


In Media Res: Dr. Heart

by CarnalCoffeeBean



Series: In Media Res--House Rubortem [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:02:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnalCoffeeBean/pseuds/CarnalCoffeeBean





	In Media Res: Dr. Heart

It was not a quiet evening when they were introduced, Avery and Dr. Heart. Season two shooting was about to begin, and Dr. Heart had been called in as a favor to the director, to show the cosmetologists on hand what they could really do with any sort of beauty-enhancing technology. Avery claims to remember it well, the way they smiled at each other, the first words they spoke, the laughter they shared, how they talked through the night, the fact that it was a moonless, cloudy night—foreboding, dark, broody. She’d taken a holo, even, herself dazzling the viewer with her generous smile, hair breezing about behind her, and Dr. Heart in the background, solemn, impassive, watching the world pass by, as was its wont.

Dr. Heart knows her wife’s penchant for glamour, for a show, for shine. It’s part of her charm, after all, part of what drew her inevitably to her, like waves to the shore, building, building, slow and deep and growing, push and pull. The things Avery remembers sound beautiful, haunting, splendid when looked at from afar: very much a moment seen through her own unique, fractaled crystal.

Dr. Heart does not remember things this way: as moments, caught in amber and carried, frozen, forever. She remembers details, glimpsed out of the corner of your eye, so quick you’re not even sure what you saw. They are, listed:  
— the salt tang of the air, slightly chilly with a waxing breeze, unseasonably harsh  
— the quiet lapping of the waves as they broke on the shore  
— the feeling of the sand beneath her feet, cold and shifting, grainy, interspersed with tiny shells  
— the smell of Avery’s perfume and moisturizing lotion mixed in with sea salt and night air  
— the pressure of Avery’s hand, gentle on her arm, never grasping or steering, only there, warm and soft  
— the softness of Avery’s cheek when she rested a finger there, brushed it up to her eyes, talking about what she could do in a professional capacity; Avery had brushed fingers against her wrist and _laughed_  
— the image of Avery’s face, head pillowed on the sand, eyes closed in contentment as the moon broke from behind the clouds for a second, just a second—lit up in silver, shadows playing across her face, outlined in reflection and quiet and night, still and silent as the grave.


End file.
